


Save the day

by artisan447



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: kissemdanno, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisan447/pseuds/artisan447
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jesus Christ, Danny, you scared the crap out of me." Steve's voice sounds raw and ragged, and Danny can feel his hands shaking as he works. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save the day

**Author's Note:**

> Because bodies have nerves and bones and I refuse to believe that getting shot doesn't hurt a whole hell of a lot AND need much kissing to make it better (okay, and narcotics :). Many thanks to [](http://dogeared.livejournal.com/profile)[**dogeared**](http://dogeared.livejournal.com/) for the super-speedy beta. ♥

_Fuck_.

Danny slips helplessly down the wall, but he has enough momentum to turn the slide into a roll and tuck himself into as small a ball as possible.

"Danny!"

He needs to move. He's still a target, and he has to get out of the line of fire. But his head and chest are on fire and he might as well have been thrown into a vacuum because he can't seem to suck in a single breath. He squeezes both eyes shut and wills his lungs to work.

"Danno!"

That's Steve's voice in his ear and, okay, he can't be hurt too badly if he can still pick up the fear and desperation punching out at him across the comm. So he groans and scrambles to his hands and knees, gasping against the almost unbearable pressure in his chest and back and head because he knows that tone, and he knows that if he doesn't get to cover soon, Superman McGarrett is going to swoop in on his broom and do something stupid and heroic to save the day.

Bullets ping off the wall behind him, and time seems to slow and stretch as he tries to get his hands and knees working. But he hasn't made more than a few inches progress when he hears Steve in stereo -- in his ear and in front of him -- and then firm hands grasp under his armpits and haul him forward.

"C'mon, Danny, move!"

His ribs scream in protest with every foot they scramble and by the time they stop, he's half sobbing -- ragged, desperate gasps that stutter in and out of his chest -- and when Steve finally lets him go he falls onto his side in an awkward heap. Eventually, he manages to roll onto his back, swallowing hard to stop himself puking with the new agony as his lungs finally remember how to work.

"Where are you hit, Danny?"

The straps of his vest are yanked open and it's lifted away. Danny cracks open his eyes to find that he and Steve are jammed into a corner between a dumpster and the wall. He sure as hell hopes the rest of the team is doing their thing, because there's no way they're getting out of this spot without help.

"Vest," he manages to gasp, slamming his eyes shut against the bright glare of light off metal. "I think they all hit the vest." Actually, he knows they did. He felt four, or was it five, slugs slam into him like a freight train, and there's no way he'd be alive to bitch about it if five slugs from an automatic weapon hadn't been caught by the Kevlar.

"Hold still!" Steve's hands are gentle over Danny's chest and back and arms, but it still hurts like holy hell. At the same time, it's such a blessed relief to feel at least some air going in and out of his chest that for a minute he's almost dizzy with it. Or that could be because his head hit the wall fucking hard, that's for sure, and it'd be just his luck to have a fractured skull.

"Jesus!" he gasps, as the pain grows and spreads with each rapid beat of his heart. "What about the kid?"

"She's fine, which is more than I can say for you," Steve shoots back. He sounds mad, and Danny forces his lids open to see Steve hovering over him, face pale, brow furrowed.

"You sure?" he demands, ignoring the face of doom.

"Yes, I'm sure. She went up through the window, when you boosted her." He points to his ear. "Kono said there's not a mark on her. Now hold still."

"Ow!!" Steve's hand is up in his hair, and now he's sure his head is broken, because _fuck!_ He tries to bat Steve's hands away, but moving his shoulder sends daggers shooting down his arm, so he lets his hand drop. "Cut it out, you Neanderthal," he pants. It's a weak effort and not up to his usual standards, but he can't bear the face Steve is wearing -- a mix of fear and vulnerability and murderous rage -- so he does what he can.

"Stop it, Danny. You're bleeding!"

Steve tugs open Danny's shirt and sleeve, and Danny wants to say again, 'no, they hit the vest', but then Steve lifts his arm and, ow! -- apparently at least one of the dozen or more bullets trying to bury themselves in his flesh found a target after all. How has he not noticed that, when it's throbbing with the intensity of a rock band?

Steve pulls a bandage out of his own vest, and Danny shuts his eyes fast, because Steve's hands are stained with way too much of what has to be Danny's blood and he really doesn't need to see that.

"Jesus Christ, Danny, you scared the crap out of me." Steve's voice sounds raw and ragged, and Danny can feel his hands shaking as he works. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Calculated risk, babe," he pants, and he's kind of glad they're having this conversation now; when he's injured, because he's never getting away with that at any other time.

"Yeah, well, your calculations suck," Steve says, doing whatever it is he does with padding and bandages and nice tidy bows, and ... fuck! Danny's helpless to stop the pained sound that crawls out of the back of his throat as the pressure on his arm tightens.

He can feel his anxiety rising, because shit, that hurts, and he still can't catch a decent breath, and the pain in his chest and head and arm is growing like a mutant alien _beast_ , and Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he needs...

"Steve," he manages, and it's no more than a whisper, but he obviously has Steve's full attention, because he shifts, says "Hold on, D," and then there's a sharp jab in Danny's thigh.

"Hey!" he objects, squirming, his eyes springing open, but Steve's still moving. He hauls Danny half-way upright and slides in behind him, and, okay, wow, if he gets this kind of head-rush just sitting up, he's not going to be standing any time soon, that's for sure.

"It's morphine," Steve says, sounding calmer. "Field dose, should dull the pain enough that you can catch your breath." His arm slides into place around Danny's chest, holding him close.

Right, Danny thinks, and hey, that's actually working because he's already feeling woozy. Although that's more likely the result of the very decent hit he took to his head and not the narcotic at all. Still, it is easier to breathe in this position, so he lets his head fall back into the hollow of Steve's neck and just concentrates on blocking out the pain and taking one breath, then another, and another, until he feels like his body can at least manage that much on its own.

"Tell me if it gets worse again, I can give you one more dose if you need it." Steve's words rumble deep in his chest, and the vibration against Danny's back is warm and comforting.

"That's very sweet, Steven," he slurs, surprised. He'd actually thought Steve would be more inclined to kick his ass than try and make him feel better.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm waiting till you can feel it before I get started with the kicking," Steve says, and Danny blinks because, huh, is Steve reading his mind, now?

Steve's arm tightens around his chest, which makes Danny smile because the big goof is probably bracing his ribs against the pain, but that's not what Danny wants, so he shifts and moves until he can take Steve's hand.

It's a good hand -- big, capable, a hand meant for 'doing'. He likes this hand. Actually, he likes its owner, too, pretty much more than anything right now. So he lifts the very nice hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss on its knuckles.

"This is a very nice hand," he says, solemnly, in case there's any doubt. "I like this hand."

Steve's chest vibrates again as he huffs out a laugh, and then he spreads his fingers to cup Danny's cheek. "Well, I like this face," he says, with a smile in his voice, and he places his own kiss, carefully, right on Danny's temple. "It's a very nice face."

And Danny smiles, because okay, he's pretty enamoured of that voice, too. It's the fond one, the one that means Danny's done something that defies comprehension, but Steve's willing to just roll with it until he figures out what it all means.

So, he takes Steve's very nice hand and puts it right back where it belongs -- just there, over Danny's heart -- because if this hand is going to come with that voice, and soft kisses on the side of his head, then he doesn't mind if they do this all day.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted at [Kissemdanno](http://kissemdanno.livejournal.com/26548.html)


End file.
